


Bingo Prompt: Reaction to Medication

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Allergic reaction, Anaphylaxis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Martin Blackwood, Sick Character, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: What it says on the tin! Martin accidentally gives Jon a medication he's allergic to and Tim and Martin step in.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 133





	Bingo Prompt: Reaction to Medication

Tim is smirking when Martin leaves Jon’s office to sit at his seat, and Martin just knows his flush is obvious. 

“Can I help you, Tim?” he snaps jestingly, embarrassment evident enough that Tim starts laughing. 

“I’m doing just fine, thanks,” he teases, “but glad to see you’re taking care of the boss man. I think he needs it.” 

Martin sighs an exasperated sigh. “He’s clearly ill, but he won’t admit it for anything.”

Tim crushes his lips down around a smile. “That was Jon’s office. Jon Sims. You’ve met Jon, right?” 

“Look, I know he’s just… like that,” Martin admits, “but it’s maddening. He sounds miserable, but he won’t go home. I told him we could handle the Institute alone for a day or two so he could get some rest, but he just told me he had work to do.” 

Tim smiles. “That sounds about right. The only way he’s going home before 5 is in a body bag.” 

“I wish he’d have just--just an  _ ounce _ of self-preservation instincts. It’d be a vast improvement.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t hold your breath. I personally believe he’s always going to need someone to drag his sorry arse to bed when he’s overdone it. Enter: me. And, well, you, now, I suppose.” 

Martin blushes. “You’re probably right. That’s why I brought him Lemsip instead of tea.” 

Rather than looking amused and mischievous, as Martin had expected, Tim’s face falls serious. “You what?” 

Martin flounders. “I—I just thought—”

“Did you tell him?”

“Tim, what’s—” 

“Martin!” 

“No!” he exclaims. “I thought he’d refuse it!” 

Tim is already walking fast, borderline jogging, towards Jon’s office, Martin on his heels. Tim swipes the first aid kit from the bathroom as he walks, hardly letting it slow him down. 

“What’s going on? What did I do?” Martin demands frantically. 

“He’d refuse it because he’s allergic to the decongestant in it,” Tim says as he power-walks. Martin is horrified, speechless, useless as Tim throws open Jon’s office door only to find him sitting at his desk and wheezing, searching through his desk drawers methodically and a little desperately. 

“EpiPen?” Tim asks, already digging for it inside the bag, and Jon wheezes something that might be an affirmative reply. “Martin, sit him down.” 

He thinks he’s going to be too terrified to move, but instead, he’s too terrified to do anything but. Martin crosses the room in a few quick strides as Tim tosses the bag to the ground and begins digging around inside. When Martin had seen the EpiPen in the emergency kit a few months ago, on a quest for plasters for Sasha after her new shoes had blistered her heels, he’d thought it odd. What kind of person would keep a life-saving medication in a communal first aid kit rather than in their own desk or bag? 

He can’t say it doesn’t track, looking around Jon’s office, which is piled high with stacks of folders and paperwork. 

“Found it!” Tim exclaims, flicking the safety cap off and onto the floor. “Ready?” Jon nods as Tim injects the orange end of it hard into his thigh through his dress pants, holding for what feels like a long moment, then removing it. Jon hardly winces, even as Tim massages the site. It doesn’t take long for Jon’s breathing to begin to even out, even if it’s still raspy and quick. 

“God, Jon, I’m so sorry--I had no idea; I would have never--I wouldn’t have—”

“Martin,” Jon uses a breath of precious air to cut him off. “I know. It’s alright.” 

“It’ll be alright when we get you to the hospital.” 

“Hospital?” Martin squeaks. “But--I thought--I thought you got it in time.” 

“We did,” Tim reassures, gesturing for Martin to get Jon’s other side so they can get him to his feet, even if he complains about the assistance. “But it only lasts 10 or 20 minutes, so any time he uses it, it’s straight to the ER. Remember that. I’ll show you how to give the injection later, just in case something like this happens again. He’s got a few food and drug allergies--I’ve got a list. I’ll make you a copy.” 

Jon rolls his eyes. “I gave you that list so I wouldn’t need to tell anyone else.” 

“You just shaved a few good years off Martin’s life by not telling him,” Tim scolds, “so I think he deserves the list.” He hesitates. “I mean, it’s your call. It’s your private medical information. But… I think it’d be a good idea.” 

Jon sighs, thin and wavery, but mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “yes, fine,” so Tim counts it as a win. 

The next day, Jon shows Martin how to use the EpiPen himself. 


End file.
